God would have taken mercy on her baby, seeing that she had already had too much pain and that he had taken her beloved mother. Her father’s ideas of expostulation were a little harsh and forcible, and over the claret-colored table-cloth and under the gas chandelier, with his hat and umbrella between them like the mace in Parliament, he and his daughter contrived to have a violent quarrel. ‘Who kills who?’ ‘Rot in hell,’ he snarled, panting, and managed to push himself forward and leap off the dais, running for the safety of the far aisle by the wall. I promise not to do it again. Michelle looked at Lucy's feet, still in the ugly brown loafers she had worn since last year.
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